


You Have Your Daggers

by bikuai



Category: Call of Duty (Video Games), Call of Duty: Infinite Warfare - Fandom
Genre: Angst, Gen, Gore, Just a wee bit, another mention of Hari Khalsa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22169512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikuai/pseuds/bikuai
Summary: That red color suits you; I know I didn’t like it before.
Relationships: Salen Kotch/Reader
Kudos: 3
Collections: Call of Duty: Reader Inserts





	You Have Your Daggers

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said none of the Salen fics are connected?
> 
> I lied, this one is a sequel to [Want You For Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22046935).
> 
> This is the angst half to the story, if you wish to see it that way.
> 
> Also: Diving by Art School Girlfriend

You tremble under his touch.

“Salen...you don’t have to do this,” you beg. “Please. I’m your friend, your  _ partner _ .”

The blade at your neck doesn’t retreat. “You are many things,” he whispers, “but I never would have taken you for a deserter.”

He growls out the last word, like the very thought of it disgusts him. 

“All of them warned me about you, and I didn’t listen. I  _ trusted _ you,” he continues after a long moment of breathless silence.

“You don’t understand! I have to get off this planet—” 

“Shut up!” He cuts you off, slamming you face first into the steel paneled wall. The impact startles you, but the pain is fleeting.

_ He doesn’t want to hurt you. _

The thought sends a chill down your spine and you freeze; you don’t want to ruin the moment. He has you from behind, left arm wrapped around you while his right presses the tactical knife into your skin. The warmth of his body is nostalgic, even as it contrasts with the cold metal against your cheek.

If the admiral wished to hurt you, he would have; there is no doubt of it. And in such a compromising position as yours, it would be trivially easy. A flick of his wrist and you would have a scar wicked enough to rival his.

Yet, he restrains himself. For a tense moment, he does nothing more than hold you firm against the wall. It’s almost as if he’s savoring the feel of you in his arms, one last time. His soft breath just behind your ear is oddly calming, and you begin to think he might release you.

Your delusions are torn asunder when releases the knife from your neck, only to plunge it into the hollow of your shoulder.

You scream as the knife slips through your muscles like butter. Salen buries it to the hilt before shoving you to the ground. You land on your hands and knees, but he plants a swift kick in your ribs that flips you onto your back.

“That’s for lying to me,” he says, lowering himself to your body and straddling your hips.

“This is for betraying me,” he says, yanking the blade from your shoulder. He doesn’t flinch at the splatter of your blood on his cheek.

“This is for thinking you’d get away with it,” he says, drawing the serrated edge down your sternum. It slices cleanly through your jumpsuit and leaves a river of blood in its wake. He stops at your belly button, and the knife leaves your skin, relocating to the soft flesh just above your pelvis.

“This is for making me love you,” he says, before sinking the knife into your side. 

“Salen,  _ please! _ It hurts!” You squirm and recoil from his touch, but you don’t get far. The wound in your shoulder renders your right arm useless while the knife in your side prohibits any lateral movement. Tears spring from your eyes as you cry out again. “Please, don’t do this!”

Your pleas fall deaf to his ears. He twists the blade.

“No! No! Stop! I don’t want to die!”

At that, he goes still. Through your tears, you can see the bloodthirst drain from his eyes. A look of tremendous fatigue passes over him as he looks down at the mangled skin and flesh of your torso. His hands withdraw, trembling as he curls them into tight fists by his side. The admiral sighs shakily as he tries to catch his breath, and in his exhaustion, you can see a hint of the man you love. The deep burgundy of his eyes in the low light, the stubble that frames the soft edges of his lips, the disobedient curls that dangle by his cheek…

Unthinkingly, you begin to lift your left hand. It takes all the energy you have to reach his face, and once there, your thumb brushes over the line of his scar, wiping away a tear.

That gesture is too much for him. He swats your hand away, and it drops back to your side.

“I—I can’t bring myself to kill you,” he stutters, finally pulling the knife from deep within your waist. “But make no mistake: I  _ never _ want to see you again.” Standing, he wipes his hands on his pants. The brief moment of vulnerability is over; Admiral Kotch’s hard gaze stares down at you.

He continues, “you will leave this ship, this fleet, this  _ planet _ ...but you will never set foot on the Earth. You’ll spend the rest of your pathetic life on Deimos, with all the other criminals and traitors. Or maybe I should send you to a labor camp on Titan? Nice and far from this planet you hate so much, the planet that raised you.” He flicks the blood from his knife to accent his words. Some of it lands on your face.

“It will be far from me too,” he adds. You grunt weakly in response. “I know you will like that, especially after what I’ve done to you today.” He holsters the blade in his belt’s sheath and takes a step toward the exit of the hangar. 

“You shouldn’t worry, by the way; medical will be here”—he looks at his watch—“within an hour or so. Just sit tight until then, love. Try not to bleed all over my ship.”

His retreating steps match the beat of your heart. You strain to hear them, even as they disappear down the hall. You imagine them walking all the way back to his quarters. If he spoke truly, the admiral would likely be there to destroy all traces of you. You imagine him going through your things: bits of your gear, photos, doodles, love letters...

You black out before medical can arrive.

***

You’re not on the hangar floor when you wake up; this place is much warmer, much softer, yet dark as a wintry Martian night. Frightened and disoriented, you sit up too fast. A hot spike of pain blooms in your side, and you fall back to the bed, whimpering.

The noise causes a form beside you to shift. He lifts his head of messy curls, and you gasp.

“Salen? How are you… Why are…” You try again. “Where am I?”

“Calm down,” he says as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “You’re in my room, in my house. The one in Cydonia.”

“Why?” You demand, heart beating frantically in your chest. “Why did you bring me here?”

His brows lower in confusion. “Love,  _ you _ were the one that came here. You were bleeding, remember?”

“Yes, but...I was on the Olympus, and you…” You trail off at the incredulous look he gives you.

He gently pushes you back down to the bed. “You hit your head last night, love. You were walking home from training when Hari Khalsa attacked you, remember?” His fingers take yours to the side of your head where some gauze is taped.

You yank your hand from his and move it to feel the hollow of your right shoulder. No wound. However, when your fingers trail over the skin just above your hip, they feel bandages.

Everything that happened…  _ It felt so real. _

“Salen…” You hesitate then turn to him. “What if I left?”

He blinks. “Well, you’re still in no condition to walk home, but I could—”

“No no no,” you cut him off. “What if I left  _ Mars? _ Or tried to, at least. What would you do?”

His brows lower in suspicion as he sits up. “You can’t possibly be considering that.  _ Why _ would you consider that? What have you done to warrant such a thing? Is there something you’re not telling—”

You cut him off with your hands on his shoulders. “Just answer the question!” Your voice comes out sterner than you intended. You sigh and lower your voice. “Please. What would you do if I tried to leave Mars?”

His gaze hardens, a trait reminiscent of Admiral Kotch. It’s a side of him you don’t see often—he takes great care to ensure that. Yet here he is, and he answers you nonetheless. “I would have to turn you in,” he states, “and I would oversee your punishment.”

“But what if it was just us, and no one else knew?” You press, leaning in to him. You’re on your knees now, practically in his lap. Your hands come up to rest on his cheeks, and your closeness is suffocating.

“I’d kill you. To save your dignity. Death is no—”

“That’s a lie,” you whisper without thinking. “You could never kill me.”

For a split second, you think you’ve made a mistake. His eyes flare with anger, frustration, and...fear? You couldn’t tell; it was gone as soon as it came. His hands gently pry yours from his face.

“Where is all this coming from?” He asks, changing the subject.

You retreat, giving him space. A shaky breath leaves you as you lay back down, facing away from him. “I had a bad dream.”

“Love,” he coos, suddenly apologetic. The admiral has given way to Salen, the ever-considerate lover. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“We just did.” You curl into yourself, drawing further from your partner.

You hear him draw in a breath, but he doesn’t speak. Instead, he withdraws to his side of the bed, leaving you with only the chill of the night. You shiver and try to cocoon yourself further in the sheets. Salen concedes most of the comforter, so as to not displease you further. A long moment passes where the only sound is of soft breathing.

“I love you. Nothing will ever change that,” he says finally. “To my dying breath, I will love you.”

“I love you too,” you murmur sheepishly. “I would never leave you.”

“I know,” he whispers back.

Fatigue sets in your body, and you feel yourself drifting. Although there is most definitely a talk Salen has scheduled for you in the morning (of which the subject is a myriad of things, your dream included), you succumb to a deep, dreamless sleep before you think to worry about it.

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Motifs to the max in this one. Salen’s duality really lends itself to some of these metaphors.
> 
> Also, I hope the Salen fans out there are enjoying these fics!! Y’all know there’s only so many of us.


End file.
